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Nora hadn’t returned yet, but that was okay. I was taking care of her home, cleaning every day and making sure her firewood box remained full. She had a huge supply of chopped wood on the side of her house, so thankfully I didn’t have to cut anything. I liked having fresh flowers to put around the house, so I added that to my list and headed out.
The small market in town was bustling with people. I gripped my list as I navigated the different aisles looking for the ingredients I’d need for tonight’s dinner. I knew Colson didn’t really care if I made another casserole or not, but it kept me busy and I really liked cooking, so for now I was thankful he was accepting it.
At the checkout, I smiled happily, but the more I smiled at people the warier they seemed to become.
“You have ID for the wine?” the checker asked, her tight curls held in place with a glittering headband that might have been a gift from someone much younger.
Tugging my wallet free and navigating to the fake ID I kept behind my billfold, I handed it over and tried to make polite conversation.
“I love your hair band.”
No response. Her brows came together as she viewed my fake driver’s license that had my photo but showed I was born a year earlier than I actually was. It was ridiculous that I even needed this, considering I had just closed on a hard seltzer beverage company not even three months ago.
“You’re from California?” The woman at the register made a scoffing sound then shook her head handing my ID back.
“Guess it’s startin’.” The woman aggressively moved the rest of my groceries over the scanner.
“What’s starting?” I swallowed around a lump in my throat. I didn’t like confrontation unless it was in a boardroom and I had on my favorite stilettos and was dressed for the occasion. Currently I was in gym clothes, yoga pants, and a loose T-shirt.
“You fancy Californians are going to start moving up here permanently, not just skiing and dropping cash at those fancy resorts. You’re messing with our economy. Some of us had to sell, close up shop. But I guess if you’re rich enough, you can have any view you want. Beach, mountain, desert. Doesn’t matter.”
My face heated as her voice rose and people began to gather in line behind me, their eyes darting up and around as they noticed the scene she was making.
“I’m not—”
She cut me off, her mouth drawn down and her watery blue eyes stern. “Sixty-two fifty.”
I slid my card over the top of the machine for the tap-to-pay option, and bit my lip. There was nothing I could say to make her feel better about my presence here in town. There were obviously a few things I was missing, maybe a hardship this town had endured that I didn’t know about.
I set my bags in my cart and noticed the bagger walk off without asking if I needed help, like the other customers had been offered. It didn’t matter.
I pushed my cart to my car, saw a few more people sneer in my direction as I opened the back gate, and began unpacking my things. The California plates likely didn’t do me any favors with the way the town saw me. I wondered if Colson dealt with this sort of welcome when he arrived here. I mean, he’d gone to high school here for a while, so maybe they considered him a local? I never did come here, not even for vacations. It was something they had done with their mother, and it wasn’t repeated when their father married my mom.
My nerves were raw as I got into the car, and I decided now was a good time to look into that gym that I’d heard about. I had wanted to search it out a few times before, but there was always something that got in the way. Today I had an energy thrumming under my skin that could only be expelled with a good run on the treadmill or some time spent on the rower.
Once I returned home to put away the groceries, I headed back out.
My GPS guided me north out of town, on a road lined with tall trees. Taking the exit indicated, I saw a solitary gas station and a fly-fishing shop, then a massive grade leading up to what looked like an old lumber yard.
Weird.
The gyms in California didn’t look like this. They were usually in the downtown area, within walking distance, with lots of bright colors and big signs for curb appeal.
This place was in the middle of nowhere and still pretty much looked like a warehouse.
The parking lot was covered with snow, so it took me a minute to figure out how to park without being able to see the marked spaces. Out here, it was like the sun hadn’t hit at all, leaving piles of white powder. Shit, my shoes were going to be soaked. Why hadn’t I thought to wear my boots today? They were basically a permanent fixture on my feet ever since arriving. Yet today, I left the house without them.
I paused at the door before pushing inside, stomping to shake off the excess snow from my shoes.Croft Gymwas etched into the glass door with a picture of boxing gloves dangling underneath it. A boxing gym? A tiny flutter of excitement shot through me.
My eyes rounded as I took in the sight before me.
At least four different elevated boxing rings were spread out throughout the large space, and rows of heavy and speed training bags hung in a line. Along the other side of the gym was an open space with mats where two people trained doing a series of kicks and punches. I took a few steps and inspected the wall to my right. There were plaques and pictures of some famous boxer who apparently worked out at this gym.
My heart fluttered happily in my ribs.
I was hoping for a treadmill, but boxing—or even better, self-defense—would be perfect.
“Can I help you?” a deep voice called from my left, right as a series of loud beeps echoed around the gym. It was then that I noticed the tall registration counter I had bypassed when entering.
